Chapter 17 #2
“We both are.” Wells’s dad, Jax, put his arm around his wife. The pair were nice, normal, and nothing like their son. They didn’t play games.
They weren’t cruel.
He wasn’t always this way.
Swallowing, I faced forward. I couldn’t breathe, my lungs squeezing.
“And I have to say, I’m happy this arrangement is working out,” Jax said. He gestured between Wells and me with his brandy glass.
“I agree,” my dad said, and smiled again. He nodded toward Wells, and, though Wells smiled, the expression didn’t quite meet his green eyes. If anything, the smile faltered a little. That was only brief before he beamed at the table, and my dad, again.
“You’re going to regret coming tonight, you little Peeping-fucking-Tom.”
“Um, I have to go to the bathroom,” I said quickly. I got up even quicker and almost dropped my napkin. I laughed a little. “Sorry.”
I didn’t know what I was apologizing for.
I need to vomit.
My stomach lurching, I didn’t get a chance to see the room’s reaction to me leaving so suddenly. I just left and found the closest bathroom I could.
I ended up dry heaving.
How nothing came up I didn’t know, but I stayed by the toilet for a few seconds just to make sure.
I was shaking by the time I flushed nothing away.
I splashed water on my face, and that was when the door snapped open.
A breeze of something cool and masculine filled my nose before I was backed up against the sink.
He threw the potpourri off the counter. The flower petals exploded against the wall like floral fireworks, and I would have screamed but a hand got my jaw. It cut off the sound from my throat when Wells physically closed my mouth.
He honed in.
“I have to lie for you,” he said, getting so close, and I was shaking.
In fact, the only thing holding me up was my jaw, my face in his grip, his digits literally embedding themselves in my cheeks.
Wells tossed and caught footballs all the time.
He was great at it. Strong. His nostrils flared. “I have to lie to our parents for you.”
I never told him to lie. I never told him to do anything of that stuff he was doing downstairs. I grabbed his sweater. “Wells—”
The word came out mumbled with my jaw closed, and he shook my hands off him like I was a rag doll. Wells had never physically hurt me before. He’d been angry at me but never once had he ever acted on that anger.
Never once had he looked like he wanted to kill me.
“Please,” I gasped out and all that did was make his eyes narrow.
He was no longer the clean-cut boy with charisma downstairs.
He was now the unhinged dirty blond with a vendetta against his best friend’s little sister.
He even looked unhinged, crazed. His blond hair that had been so meticulously smoothed back was crossing over his eyes.
Like he let go of the facade the moment he decided to corner me in the bathroom.
“Did you enjoy what you saw the other night, Squeak?” he asked, biting out the nickname. I trembled, and his fingers squeezed harder in my jaw. He growled. “Did you like getting up in my motherfucking business?”
I wished I could say I didn’t but I’d be lying. I fully knew what I was doing that night. I even liked it, and I knew that didn’t make sense. I should be jealous of his connection with Bru. I liked Bru so much… I blinked back a tear. “I’m sorry.”
The words weren’t a lie, but if I told him the reason I said the words, he would hurt me.
I wasn’t sorry for what I did.
I was just sorry he caught me.
Again, I knew that didn’t make sense, and I closed my eyes as he drew in closer.
Another thing that didn’t make sense was how that tremble had suddenly moved to my thighs.
Nor the tingle that pulsed between my legs the harder his hand gripped my cheeks.
The cool scent of him glided over my face, my mouth, and it shocked my system with heat as much as the fear that currently immobilized my body against the sink.
“Did your little virgin ass love getting off on watching us,” he asked, and I swallowed. “Did it get you hot? Get you bothered…”
“I’m not a virgin,” I gasped out, again the word mumbled.
Wells let go. I hadn’t been expecting it and nearly fell to the floor. I gripped the sink, and when I looked up, he was scanning the tiles of his parents’ bathroom.
“What do you mean you’re not a virgin?” He was on me again in seconds, in my face. His eyes flared. “Who the fuck would touch you?”
My chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, I was still trying to figure out what just happened. “What?”
“I said who the fuck would touch you?” His nose was almost touching mine, and I swallowed. He bared his teeth. “Who the fuck would dare?”
I was still so… confused. Did it bother him I was with someone? That couldn’t be true. Unless…
I was so dumb. It did bother him. Of course it did. If I was with someone, that meant he hadn’t intimidated someone enough to stay away from me. To make me suffer.
To keep me alone.
What happened in high school had made me a social pariah, and if someone touched me, that meant someone had gotten through. They beat Wells at his own game, but I never intended to beat Wells. In fact, me losing my virginity had nothing to do with him.
At least, that was what I told myself.
My vision clouding, I refused to think about the moment in question. How I had lost my virginity, and, in the moment, I thought that had given me power. It didn’t though. It just made me feel gross, dirty.
“Who, Squeak?” Wells was on me, and though his nose wasn’t touching me, his breath was. Heat ghosted over my lips. Especially when he gripped the sink on either side of my hips. “Who was inside you?”
I sucked in a breath, liquid heat pulsing between my legs. I wet my lips, and Wells’s green eyes darted to my mouth.
“This turning you on, Squeak? Making you hot?” His chest inched closer.
What is he doing?
I didn’t know, but I was frozen when he took a piece of potpourri off the sink. Some of it had landed on the basin, and Wells took a long stick.
He inched my skirt up.
The stick was strong, thick, and it had to be because soon Wells had my twill skirt clear above my knee-highs. He exposed my skin, and I pressed my legs together. “What are you doing?”
He wasn’t listening to me, focused as he hiked my skirt up inch by grueling inch. He was right beneath my boy shirts before he stopped. “He or she make you tremble like this?” he asked, and my breath sucked in again.
“A he,” I said, and once more, his eyes shot up. Something wild flared his eyes to electric tones. The color didn’t actually change, but it seemed like it did, a heat behind them.
“He, then,” he stated, the words dark, low. They rolled in his chest before he was taking that stick and moving it between my legs.
“Wells—”
He moved my knees apart, pressing the end of the stick hard into both knees. It was thin enough that it stabbed me, and I winced before falling back to the mirror.
Wells was at the space between my legs, and he moved that stick so it was brushing my sex through my underwear. I wriggled. “Wells—”
“Don’t fucking move,” he gritted, the threat keeping me still. Wells’s breath was incredibly husky, and my back bowed when he guided that stick between my folds. My underwear was sheer and I felt everything. He growled. “How wet did he make you?”
The words followed the movement of the stick. He rubbed, gently at first, but then harder, faster.
“Wells, don’t.” I said this but my legs were so wide. They’d actually fallen apart and my knees had hit the sink. “Why are you doing this?”
He wasn’t listening to me, his eyes and stick focused. He looked down, watching them both, and his jaw was so tight I thought the bone would pierce the skin.
“How do you like to get fucked, Squeak?” Wells asked, but he wasn’t looking at me. He just kept moving the stick, and, at this point, my hips were rocking against it. I thought to reach out to him, to hold him, but if I did, I’d fall off the sink.
If I did, he might stop.
My toes curling, I wasn’t shy about moving my hips. I slammed against him, my ministrations meeting his.
“You like this,” he said, his words incredibly dark. “You open your legs this easy for him?”
The words were like an ice bath but that was only part of the reason why I froze on the sink.
Wells had stopped.
He had the stick out between us, the wood damp from the moisture that clearly seeped through my underwear. His expression was deadpan. “Of course, you did.”
He tossed the stick at me, and I winced. Right away, I closed my legs, and when I got off the sink, he was already at the door. He had his back to me, his hand on the doorknob. Tears pricked my eyes. “Wells…”
He sounded and looked as if he was disgusted by me, and that shouldn’t bother me. I shouldn’t care that he knew I’d been with someone. It wasn’t his business. I shouldn’t care.
Tell my emotions that when I wiped my tears away. Feeling suddenly naked, I adjusted my skirt and attempted to cover myself as much as I could even though I was fully clothed.
Wells wet his lips. “You tell anybody about what you saw last night and you’ll regret it,” he said opening the door. He paused. “And you might want to wipe yourself off before coming downstairs. Don’t want my parents to know you just got yourself off in their bathroom with a stick.”
He could have slapped me in that moment and that would have hurt less.
I supposed that’d been the point.
Wells Ambrose wanted to make me feel dirty for what happened. I hadn’t when he’d been doing it, but I did now.
Fighting the sob in my throat, I sat down. I held my knees until I felt like I didn’t want to cry anymore, and after, I cleaned up the bathroom. I went downstairs and sat in my parents’ car after that.
I told them I was sick.